


Three (Is A Magic Number)

by Bhelryss



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Asseray | Artur - Freeform, F/F, Pregnancy, having first child, im so weak for domestic stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: Eirika and L'Arachel are having their first child together. They are so excited.for tumblr user thirdchairfreshie





	Three (Is A Magic Number)

“I like this room,” Eirika said, standing in the center of a room not too far from her own. It was technically not a room of its own, being instead an adjoining chamber to Eirika’s personal quarters. Her voice rang oddly off the bare stone, not even a rug to gentle the chill and emptiness of lonely rock. 

The windows faced south, overlooking a very well-kept garden, meaning sunlight would not wake one who might be sleeping in past the sunrise, nor blind one in the evenings. And on top of that, it was  _ close _ . It was unbelievably close to her rooms, and truly that alone made her favor it. “We might place a wardrobe there, and with something alongside the floor - a toy chest there?”

She could easily imagine someone living here.  _ Their _ someone living here. Filling the space with light and warmth and life, laughing and crying and living in this room. “What do you think, L’Arachel? Wouldn’t that be lovely?” 

L’Arachel was running her fingers over the walls, standing by the window. “We’ll need bright curtains,” she declared, sketching out the drape of cloth with her other hand. “And paint!!” She whirled, light on her toes and a smile that lit up Eirika’s heart like four hundred candles. “We must have murals on every wall!” 

Eager, staccato steps took L’Arachel to another wall. “Here, Saint Latona herself against the foul behemoth, the Deathgoyle of Laurent-Yves! Where she called down the might of Ivaldi itself to scour the presence of evil away!!” A bounce in her step as she passed Eirika, maneuvering around her wife and pressing a teasing kiss to her cheek as she moved to the next wall.

“Here, another, immortalizing our glorious quest to rid Magvel, nay, rid the whole world!! Of the Demon King’s influence once more.” She traced out an image she could see in her mind, smile tender. “Great care must be made to capture your very radiance, and my own Divine Grace.” L’Arachel’s winning smile did nothing but further Eirika’s own dawning, looming sense of being overwhelmed. 

“And here--” 

“L’Arachel…” Eirika protested mildly. Hands up and placating, to try and calm down the storm of creativity and vision. “Isn’t that a bit much?” And wasn’t it? At least two full murals, brightly dyed curtains, and yet L’Arachel was still spinning graceful words about how a plush rug was a necessity, and how there had to be iconography of Saint Latona along the remaining wall. To better draw in the blessings of Latona herself for the occupants.

“Nonsense!” L’Arachel placated. “Nothing is too much for our child, after all.” Her strides took her back and forth across the room, and her hands kept busy, trying to sketch out the dynamics she saw so easily to Eirika. Energy high, she paid no mind to the way she kicked up dust from the long undisturbed floor, or the way the palms of her hands gathered a fine coating of dark dirt as she touched all along the walls. 

Or at least, paid it no mind until the disturbed particles reached her nose, and she sneezed violently. For a moment after, L’Arachel looked to Eirika despairingly, as though the very air had betrayed her. And then, much like a cat who’d found something disgusting along its footpads, she shook her hands in attempts to dislodge the dirty layer. 

With no luck in that regard, L’Arachel advanced on Eirika with intent. 

Dirty fingertips dug dark lines on a white skirt before Eirika quite realized what was coming. A shriek of delighted laughter, and Eirika danced away. “L’Arachel, no!!” It was easy enough to outpace the healer, given the way her swollen ankles disliked quick turns and stronger strides. 

“L’Arachel, yes!!” L’Arachel laughed, the bright sound so triumphant. Habit had her plant her feet apart and reach one fisted hand up to the ceiling, prepared to crow her victory and intent with all the lung power and grace she was used to commanding, but the change in her center of gravity saw her wobbling treacherously. Eirika closed the distance between them, and steadied L’Arachel without a word. 

“Well, perhaps this warrior of divinity would be better served with a short rest,” L’Arachel admitted, a hand to the small of her own back and pouting. “I fear I am rather achey today.” Slipping her hand into Eirika’s, L’Arachel let herself be coaxed from the potential nursery. There would be time enough to set up a room. Get it painted, outfitted properly for their coming child. 

Time enough that she could take the rests she was growing to need, even as she chafed against them. 

“I detest these rests,” L’Arachel complained, melting into the chair and struggling to prop up her feet. “I do so dislike being idle.” She reached out a hand for Eirika to take, which Eirika did readily. Hand held, L’Arachel groaned and grumbled until she found a position that supported her back and was still comfortable. 

“I know,” Eirika soothed, gently squeezing L’Arachel’s hand. L’Arachel’s tendency towards dramatics and rushing through her life had been forcibly slowed when they’d decided to try for children. The first time she’d exhausted herself enough that a worried Dozla had called for a healer -- her mood had turned dark and her expression thunderous. 

“I am a woman full of divine spark and energy!” L’Arachel had protested, Artur’s hands at her wrist to check her pulse. “To rein in myself in the face of my destined mission to keep Latona’s light living and well in the world? Blasphemous!!” 

And she’d glowered, enough that Artur had begun to retreat from the range of her arms. “Sister Natasha might know more about pregnancies, but yes.” He’d looked to Eirika, who’d smiled encouragingly. He was the healer, and L’Arachel might insist otherwise, but she couldn’t treat herself. 

Though, knowing her wife, Eirika had thought it likely that her healer’s training might make L’Arachel a more difficult patient.

“Soon enough you’ll have a harder time maneuvering, and you’ll need to take it easy,” Brother Artur had tried to reason. “You’ll get tired quicker, and you might ache more… It’s simply a suggestion.” He’d backpedaled, L’Arachel’s frown and pursed lips pointing to an oncoming, impassioned lecture. “You don’t have to if--”

“You should listen to Brother Artur, L’Arachel,” Eirika had cut in, before Artur could undo all the advice he’d tried to give. “He came all this way because we asked him to, after all.” But even that appeal did not soften L’Arachel’s will. Her stubbornness was legendary, her ability to batter through naysayers unending. The set of her jaw and the furrow of her brow said that L’Arachel would stubbornly hold onto her mobility until something, not someone, insisted she slow down.

That something would come as L’Arachel’s seventh month, the metaphorical brick wall stretching across her path. Only this brick wall, there was no walking around. No amount of go-arounds would let her overcome her body’s exhaustion. Or how awkward it became to walk significant distances. Let alone how much her legs and feet ached, increasingly. There was only a concentrated effort not to overextend herself, and rests. 

(Eirika thought, sometimes, that these last few months were likely to bear witness to a L’Arachel crankier than any L’Arachel ever seen before.)

“When will we be picking curtain colors, Eirika?” L’Arachel asked, leaning over the arm of her chair as she rested. “I should like to have the murals painted soon, what if our child comes early?” She tapped the fingers of her unheld hand against the opposite chair arm, restless but unable to move about. The rests were enforced with the same discipline that had once had L’Arachel flamboyantly chasing monsters across the continent without tiring, no matter how much she disliked them.

Humming, Eirika rested her other hand on top of L’Arachel’s captive hand, and lifted her shoulders slightly. “Soon, surely. But you are supposed to be resting, L’Arachel.” Being so continually excited was definitely her way of living, but it meant Eirika often worried. Was resting really resting, if L’Arachel maintained her energy levels? 

“I am!” L’Arachel denied. “I,” she insisted, “am a woman of holy virtues. I would not lie!” But the denial held no heat. “You know this, but of course you worry. Please, beloved Eirika, do not fret so over me! For the blessings of Latona mean I know myself, and my boundaries.” 

A wink, and L’Arachel was back to drumming her fingers against the chair, speaking quietly of her dreams for the nursery, even as she leaned further back into her seat. 

Eirika listened, and most of the plans she even liked. The murals were still too much, but the curtains, the bright and happy colors for rugs and bedding and curtains... Blankets abounding, hidden away in dressers and antique chests… L’Arachel illustrated a room that was warm and welcome, and yet impressive.

It sounded like a perfect room for their child. Full of love and with her mind’s eye occupied with this vision, Eirika raised the hand in her grip to her lips, pressing kisses to the back of L’Arachel’s hand. “Do you remember when we decided to have this child?” she asked, somewhat rhetorically.

L’Arachel’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward with a mischievous slant to her smile. “Of course!” she said, rolling the r and batting her eyelashes, clearly remembering the exact moment Eirika had proposed they have a child. The memory of that moment was enough to have Eirika clear her throat, face flooded with color. 

“Well,” Eirika continued, valiantly ignoring L’Arachel’s bedroom eyes and the gentle, loving touches turned teasing invitations. “I was just thinking to myself that I am so lucky,” she whispered into L’Arachel’s knuckles. “I have you, and our child will have us.” And Ephraim would try to spoil any child of hers rotten. Any sign of martial inclination, and Ephraim would spirit their child away for hours of roughhousing and practice. 

The “threat” of L’Arachel’s bedroom eyes softened, and she leaned further towards Eirika and propped her chin up with her free hand. “I love you,” L’Arachel insisted, gaze yet intense. “You will be an amazing mother. Our baby will love you,” she insisted again, with the same force she always had. The force that made it seem like L’Arachel spoke and the  _ world _ moved to make it so.

Faith and force enough that Eirika could never doubt her. “Both of us will be,” Eirika agreed, so full of love for her wife that it was overwhelming. “We’ll do our best, and we’re going to love our baby so much.” The upturn of L’Arachel’s lips, that breathtakingly gentle smile, was sweet enough to steal away any other words.

They were going to be the best kind of parents they could be.


End file.
